Quantum Goldmine
by Dot
Summary: A Quantum Leap/Velvet Goldmine crossover. What happens when Sam leaps into Curt Wild's body to stop the assassination of a young journalist who makes a startling discovery?
1. Default Chapter

Quantum Goldmine  
  
A/N: If we needed any proof that I am insane, here it is. My very own Quantum Leap/Velvet Goldmine crossover. I thought of the idea while watching Zoolander… and surprisingly, this *isn't* a comedy. It's action, drama, romance… and after all that, maybe comedy. Slash too, but HELLO! Read and review, pretty please.  
  
Chapter One:   
  
The white light flashed, he flew through space- time really- and then was immediately compacted into another body. Dr. Sam Beckett straightened and looked around him. Before him was a young man, with clear pale skin and big brown eyes, staring at him expectantly.   
  
"Cheers," the young man said with an obvious English accent, tipping his beer in a salute.   
  
Sam swallowed. "Oh, boy."   
  
The young man smiled a little. "What's wrong?"   
  
"I- uh…" he trailed off.   
  
"Arthur," the boy supplied, standing and holding out a hand. "And I'd better be going. I have a story to write. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Wild."   
  
They shook, and Arthur walked away, leaving his beer on the table. Sam slumped down in the chair and took a gulp of it. Immediately, he sputtered and spit the offending object into his hand. It was a pin, bright green and nearly glowing. He stared down at it, fascinated.   
  
There was a quick buzzing noise, then suddenly beside him stood a flashily dressed man. "Sam," he greeted.   
  
"Al," Sam whispered, then got to his feet quickly and pocketed the pin. "Let's talk." He left the bar quickly, via the backdoor, not bothering to hold it for the hologram, who merely stepped through it. "Who am I?"   
  
"Let's see," Al punched some buttons and Ziggy came back with a reading almost immediately. "You're Curt Wild, thirty-two, and you're in New York City in 1984."   
  
"Curt Wild? The rock star Curt Wild?"   
  
"Uh… Yes, the rock star Curt Wild. He's been living in New York for almost five years now at… 1138 Thackery. Nice area. To which you better get to, since it's late and you have no idea what time you have to get up in the morning."   
  
"Why am I here?" Sam asked. "And do I have a car?"   
  
"I don't know, and no." Al smiled and pointed with his cigar. "You have that."   
  
Sam turned his head to see what Sam was pointing at. It was a classic Harley, in mint condition. A smile broke across his face. "I get to be a rock star. Cool."   
  
TBC soon..... 


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: I forgot to explain stuff in the last chapter. 1) VG or QL don't belong to me. Whoever owns them is far richer than I am. 2) For those who don't know but still might be interested in reading this, Quantum Leap was a TV show about a guy who leaps back in time to right wrongs, with the help of a hologram named Al and a supercomputer named Ziggy (hey, like the stardust!) I am done now, so on with the story!   
Chapter Two:  
  
Sam got to Curt's home fifteen minutes later. It was an old-fashioned brownstone, and Al hadn't been lying when he said it was in a nice area. The lawn was manicured and the walls inside freshly painted. The brownstone had been converted into apartments, and Sam tentatively tried the first door, hoping it was the right one. Luckily, it was, and he entered the apartment.   
  
It was very bare, with only a couch, coffee table, and TV in the living room. The kitchen was off the living room and seemed just as empty. There was a small hall, which Sam walked down curiously. Three doors opened onto the hall; Sam opened the first one and peaked inside. It was a small bathroom, dimly lit even when he flipped the light on. He stepped inside and stared into the mirror.   
  
The handsome features of Curt Wild stared back at him. Curt had stormy blue eyes, heavily lashed. His hair fell around his shoulders, half tied back, in platinum waves. He was pale, but not naturally so. It looked as though he'd spent far too many days inside, alone.   
  
Sam shut off the light and left the bathroom. He moved down the hallway to the second door and flung it open. Inside there was a studio of sorts, with a few guitars, a microphone and a stereo system in the corner. The walls seemed to be soundproofed as well, so they neighbors wouldn't be disturbed. Sam wondered around the room for a few minutes, checking out the equipment eagerly. After he had circled the room twice, he left it, promising himself that he would play with Curt's instruments later.   
  
The third door led to Curt's bedroom, another Spartan affair, with a queen size bed unmade against one wall. Sam glanced at the alarm clock by the bed. It was already 1 am. He walked over to it, and checked the alarm. It was set to go off at 8 am. There had to be a reason for it, so Sam shrugged. He stripped out of Curt's jeans and shirt, then reached for the pajama bottoms laying on the floor. He slipped them on, then climbed under the covers, drifting to sleep almost as soon as his head his the pillow.   
  
*  
  
Sam woke up the next morning to the wonderful smell of bacon cooking. He got up and headed into the kitchen, wondering if he had a girlfriend, or a cook. When he entered the living room and saw the girl at the stove, he decided the former must be true. She was beautiful, with a slim frame and shoulder length hair that was fading from blond to a more natural red-brown.   
  
"Darling," she said, turning to look at him. "You're awake early."  
  
"Uh, yeah, I guess." He took a deep breath. "Whatcha cooking?"   
  
"Bacon and eggs," she told him, then smiled. "Don't worry, I brought muffins for you, too. I know how you hate bacon."   
  
He loved bacon, but Curt apparently didn't, so he merely swung himself into the barstool that sat by the kitchen counter and said, "Thanks."   
  
She flipped the eggs, then moved them onto a plate and handed them to him. "Go on then, eat up."   
  
He was about to when he saw the redness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hand. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Oh, nothing." The lie didn't sound right, and she knew it, so she began again. "The concert last night… It was hard seeing him like that. I shouldn't have gone. *We* shouldn't have gone."   
  
He slid off the chair and wrapped his arms around her as she began to cry. He kissed her forehead, then her full lips in an attempt to comfort her like her boyfriend would have.   
  
She pulled away. "Curt, I'm thankful for the attention, really, but you do remember that you're gay, right?"   
  
"Oh," Sam said, then slumped against the counter. "Yeah." 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
He hated hospitals. Curt could count how many times he had been in one on three fingers. There was the day he was born, of course, the time he broke his arm at Boy Scout camp, and then the last time- when his parents had sent him to the psychiatric ward for electrotherapy. He'd never set foot in a hospital since the day they'd let him out, and he couldn't figure how he'd gotten to this one.   
  
The room was blue and smelled sterile. He was restrained, tied to the bed with what felt like leather straps. If he'd been anywhere else, he might have enjoyed it, but not there. Never there.   
  
Curt heard someone enter the room and he flailed his head, looking for them. "Come on, show yourself, you son of a-"   
  
"Now, now," a voice said. "No need for insults."   
  
"Who are you?" he demanded.   
  
"Unfortunately, I can't tell you that. But I need to ask you some questions."  
  
"Ask away, bastard, but there's no way in hell I'll answer."   
  
The man was quiet for a moment. "Look, we're trying to help someone close to you. We need some information."  
  
"Some one close to me?" Curt blinked, thinking. "There is no one close to me."   
  
"Maybe close is the wrong word, but Arthur Stuart is going to die unless we can stop it."   
  
Curt froze. Arthur. The journalist from the Herald. The boy from the roof. "What do I have to do?"   
  
*  
  
Sam was sitting at the counter, eating muffins with who he'd thought was Curt's girlfriend when Al arrived. He looked startled at Al's arrival, but the woman had her back turned, luckily.   
  
Al smiled. "Mornin', Sam." Sam nodded a greeting. Al continued. "Got some more information for you on your mission and Mr. Wild. First off, this isn't your girlfriend. Curt Wild is gay." Sam gave Al a scathing look, wishing the woman wasn't there so he could yell at Al. "Who she is, however, is Mandy Slade, ex-wife of pop star Brian Slade, your- Curt's- former lover."   
  
Mandy chose that minute to turn around, glass of orange juice in hand. "I should just forget about him. Pretend he died in 1974. Pretend not to know that he's still prancing around as bloody Tommy Stone."  
  
"Mandy-"  
  
"Don't 'Mandy' me, Curt! I thought I'd escaped him, then that journalist came looking for his damn exclusive copy and I remembered it all!"   
  
Al punched a few buttons, then said, "Yeah, yeah, Sam, this is why we're here. Ziggy says this journalist, Arthur Stuart, is gonna kick the bucket in a few days."   
  
"Arthur," Sam murmured, remembering the young man from the night before.  
  
"So he did get a hold of you. I was wondering about that." Mandy shook her head. "Nice kid. Its true what they say, you know. The good ones are either married or gay." She seemed to remember her own ex-husband and chuckled. "Or both." She checked her watch suddenly and said, "I gotta get going."  
  
"Thanks for breakfast." Mandy kissed him on the cheek and left. He sighed and said, "You couldn't have told me he was gay last night?"  
  
Al rolled his eyes, then said, "Look, Sam, this Arthur person is going to die in three days unless we stop it."  
  
"What happens?"  
  
"Arthur Stuart, 27, apparently discovers more about Tommy Stone, a big pop idol, than Tommy wants him to know. Music is a powerful business, Sam. Tommy Stone has Arthur assassinated." 


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: In Spyre's review, she brought up something that I really didn't think of. In QL, I don't think you do ever discover exactly the leapee does during Sam's leap, but the leapee's soul, mind, aura, or whatever, is inside Sam's body in a waiting room of sorts. I'm assuming that the people inside the QL project can talk to the leapee. I don't know how accurate that is to the show, but pretty much, I want to get into Curt's head and that's the only way to do it. Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed!   
  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"Assassinated?" Sam asked, eyes widening.   
  
"Yes. Arthur Stuart is shot three days from now outside his workplace… The Herald. Tommy Stone is implicated, but never directly connected or charged with anything."   
  
"Why would Tommy Stone want this Arthur guy dead?"   
  
"Ziggy's working on it. I suggest you get yourself to where ever Arthur is and try to find out from him while Ziggy sorts through this mess."   
  
"Curt Wild might know," Sam suggested, already heading back to the bedroom to change.   
  
"He's being questioned, but we aren't sure how reliable he is. I mean, the guy's an ex-heroin addict and recovering alcoholic with severe emotional problems."   
  
Sam paused at the door to the bedroom and looked back at Al. "Just find out. We don't have much time." He heard Al's chamber close behind him as he went to inquire about this Arthur.   
  
Sam threw open Curt's closet, looking for something casual to wear. He wasn't surprised to find plenty of black, plenty of leather, and plenty of black leather. He dug around a bit for something more comfortable and finally emerged with a clean pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt, much like what he'd been wearing the night before. He dressed swiftly, then ran a brush through Curt's untamed locks, and tied them back. He barely stopped to look up the address of the Herald before charging out the door, heading for Arthur Stuart.   
  
*  
  
He was getting nothing done.   
  
It had been like this all night, and all morning. He had writer's block. No, he corrected himself harshly, he had writer's Berlin Wall. And of course he knew the cause.   
  
Curt Wild had been thrown back into his life like a hurricane, unchanged, so unlike the world around him, so unlike Arthur himself. He couldn't get his face out of his head. The night they'd spent together had been burned into his memory, but it had faded. Until last night.   
  
Arthur sighed and lowered his head into his hands. The paper in front of him was blank except for the heading atop the page. He wanted to cover it with a tale of scandal and lies, a nation deceived. Instead, he knew he'd go along with the title he'd written: Stone Delivers.   
  
There was a knock on his door; Arthur glanced at the clock on his desk before answering. It was 9:00. His deadline wasn't until noon. "Come in," he called, putting his head back in his hands.   
  
"Arthur?" a voice asked from the door.   
  
A familiar voice. Arthur froze, then lifted his head very slowly. Curt Wild stood in the doorway, posture unsure and face slightly nervous. Arthur blinked. "Curt? Uh, Mr. Wild?"   
  
Curt seemed to relax a little and entered. "Curt's fine."  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.   
  
Curt sat in the chair across from him and stared into his eyes intently. "I think someone is trying to kill you."   
  
Arthur's eyes widened for a moment; he opened his mouth to speak, then burst into laughter. "Me? Kill me? Why?"   
  
Curt looked even more nervous. "I don't know."   
  
"Are you high?" Arthur asked, gleeful smile on his face. It faded almost as soon as the words left his mouth, remembering a time the man before him had asked him that, albeit in a more seductive way.   
  
"Look-" Curt began, not seeming to notice or remember.   
  
That suddenly made Arthur mad and he stood up. "Mr. Wild, I don't need you to tell me allegations of murder; I'm a journalist, I report on that. So please, I have work to do."   
  
Curt looked down, apparently saw the title on the otherwise blank page. "Tommy Stone?"   
  
"Why do you think I was at the concert last night, fun?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "Please go."   
  
Curt hesitated. He always hesitated before walking away. Arthur had noticed that ten years before. But he left, like he'd done then, and Arthur sat back down and resumed staring at a blank page.   
  
*  
  
The men watching the Herald from a black sedan parked at the curb, the men watching Arthur, didn't hear the conversation. But they saw Curt go in, and saw him come out ten minutes later. As Curt got on his motorcycle and moved into traffic, the driver turned to his companion. "It seems Mr. Stuart has Mr. Wild's assistance in his venture."  
  
His companion nodded. "We'll have to step up the plan."   
  
The driver put the car into gear and began to pull away from the curb. "Mr. Stone is not going to be happy." 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
Sam had found out from Mandy's innocuous chatter that he owned a small bar. After a quick stop at the brownstone, he'd found out where the bar was and gotten the keys to open it. If Arthur wasn't going to take his warning seriously, he'd have to wait for Al to get him the information he needed, and he might as well keep busy in the meantime.   
  
The bar was locked when he got there. He opened the door and was about to head for the back when he noticed another man in the room. He was tall with bleach blond hair, wearing sunglasses, even though he was inside and outside it was heavily overcast. The man wore a dark, nondescript sweater and designer jeans. He looked vaguely familiar, but Sam couldn't put his finger on why.   
  
"We're closed," Sam said, merely for something to say.   
  
"I know," the man replied with a smirk. He took off his glasses, revealing remarkable blue eyes. "But that's never really stopped us before, has it?"   
  
*So I know him,* Sam thought, walking around to the other side of the bar. "Drink?"   
  
"Scotch," the man said shortly. "Curt, I thought we had a deal."   
  
"A deal?" Sam asked, pouring the scotch.   
  
"Yes, a deal. I thought I could trust you." Sam had no idea how to answer, but apparently he didn't have to, because the man was going on. "Obviously I can't."  
  
Before Sam could answer, he heard the chamber opening and saw Al emerge. "Why do you say that?"   
  
"I know you've talked to the journalist," the man said, rolling his glaringly blue eyes.  
  
Al started talking as soon as he finished. "Say you're old friends."  
  
Sam dutifully repeated Al's words. The man glared at him. "No, he's not. I know all your friends, Curt."   
  
"Things change," Sam replied.   
  
"Yes, things change. But the public doesn't see that! It never has! I have an image to protect, Curt! You know how important that is to me."  
  
Sam was familiar enough with Curt by now to know exactly what he'd say without Al's coaching. "I don't give a damn about your image," he snapped.  
  
"That journalist was at my concert! You should have heard what he said!" It clicked in Sam's mind when he said concert. The blond man was Tommy Stone. Sam had no idea how to reply. Obviously Curt had a long history with Tommy Stone. Tommy sighed and downed his scotch. "You're forcing me to do something I don't want, Curt. I helped you once, and *this* is how you repay me? With betrayal?"   
  
"Get mad," Al said quickly.   
  
Sam listened and slammed his own glass onto the bar. "Get out!" he bellowed. "I don't have to put up with your crap anymore!"   
  
Tommy put his sunglasses back on. He didn't give any farewell, just left the bar quietly. As soon as the door shut, Sam turned to Al. "What was that about? Why was Tommy Stone here?"   
  
Al sighed. "Tommy Stone, huh? Sam, that was Brian Slade."   
  
"Brian Slade? Curt's ex-lover?"   
  
"Yeah, That's what Arthur found out. That's what Tommy is trying to hide."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Tommy Stone is the poster boy for President Reynolds' conservative revolution. He sways the public, and in return has unlimited support and access. If it was found out he was a radical bisexual… Well, no doubt he'd lose some fans and have to drop out of the spotlight- again."   
  
"Doesn't sound like a reason to kill."   
  
"Murder has been committed for less." Al consulted his hand-held computer. "But according to this, we're running out of time."  
  
"We have two and a half days," Sam objected.   
  
"Not anymore. Something you've done in the past twelve hours has accelerated matters. Arthur Stuart is now recorded as dying in ten hours and thirty six minutes. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
11:58.  
  
Arthur stared at the small clock, willing the hands to stop. He'd gotten three more words done on his review of the concert. His heart just wasn't in it.   
  
The minute hand fluttered to 59, the hour hand a fraction of a millimeter closer to 12 and Arthur sighed. *Stone Delivers,* he thought. *Delivers a mockery of what he once was, what he could have been.*   
  
A knock sounded on his door; Arthur knew it was Lou. Dejectedly, he called, "Come in."  
  
Lou poked his white head inside. "Arthur? Are you done with the Stone piece?"  
  
"No," Arthur said quietly.  
  
Lou entered the room fully, smiling. "Finishing touches?"  
  
"Topic sentence actually." At Lou's confused look, Arthur said, "I can't write this, Lou. It's a lie."  
  
"The show wasn't good? Say so. We're journalists, not sycophants. If someone performs badly, we have an obligation-"   
  
"The show was fine, Lou."  
  
Lou sat down in the chair across from Arthur, looking genuinely concerned. "Then what is it? You've been like this since…"   
  
"Since Thursday," Arthur replied. "Since you gave me the Slade story. Since I found out who Tommy Stone really is."   
  
Lou cocked his head. "You don't mean…"   
  
"Radical pop icon Brian Slade is conservative pop icon Tommy Stone."   
  
Lou looked amazed. "How do you know, Arthur? Are you sure?"  
  
"Do you mean can we print it?" Arthur cracked a smile. "I'm positive, Lou. There's no uncertainty. Brian and Tommy are the same person."   
  
"We can't print that," Lou said softly. "Do you have any idea the lawsuit that he'd press?"   
  
"No one in this bloody country has even read that bloody first amendment, have they? Journalists can print what they want to print. It's the truth, Lou. People have a right to know the truth."   
  
Lou sighed. "Okay. I'll run Morris's piece on H.C. Bactor in the entertainment column. You get the Stone/Slade piece ready for Monday. If you're wrong…"  
  
"I'm not."   
  
Lou nodded. "Fine. But its not just *your* career on the line, you know."  
  
Arthur smiled. "I know."   
  
*  
  
Curt was bored. They'd taken the restraints off and he was able to walk around, but it was still the most boring place he'd ever been in. He kept himself busy by humming old melodies and trying to come up with new ones. He'd thought of a song about aliens and time travelers but he figured that without anything to write it on, he would forget it before they let him go.   
  
If they let him go. He was still a bit foggy on whether or not they were planning on keeping him here, and who 'they' were.  
  
He yawned and was about to go lay down again when the door opened. White light spilled in and the man- he'd eventually introduced himself as Al- entered and Curt nodded a greeting. "Can I go home now?"  
  
"In such a hurry?"   
  
"I have plants to water, cats to feed," he said flippantly. Then he sobered. "Is Arthur alright?"   
  
Al looked uncomfortable. "He'll be fine. We'll take care of it."   
  
"How could Brian- Tommy- kill him? Brian used to revel in the truth- telling it especially. But then he got… lost in the fantasy."  
  
"Where does Arthur come in?"  
  
"Arthur… I'm don't even know if he remembers. He was so high that night. It wasn't my first one night stand. But it was the only one that ever meant anything. I was ready to give up. To go shoot myself full of heroine and just end it. But Arthur was so bright… Like a beacon. He gave me everything he had and would have given me more. And I would have given more to him."  
  
"What happened?"   
  
"Dawn. In the light of day, things are different. The rock star suddenly looks more like a washed up old fool and the beacon… Well, in the sunlight beacons don't shine so bright."  
  
"Sure they do. It just doesn't seem that way."  
  
"He's never been out of my head. And I barely recognized him."  
  
"You love him?"  
  
"I wouldn't call it love. I don't even know him." He was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes you fall in love with an idea. But when the illusion fades… so does the love."   
  
"Love isn't always like that."   
  
Curt stared at Al, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't let him die." 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
Sam had no intention of letting Arthur Stuart die. He headed back over to the Herald, ready to confront Arthur again, figure out how to fix this permanently. But when he got there, he found that Arthur wasn't.   
  
"He's got a big story," the man he asked said with a grin. "Went home."  
  
"Where?" Sam asked urgently, glancing at the clock above the man's head. He had nine hours.   
  
The man gave him a strange look. "Are you a friend of his?"  
  
"Yeah," Sam replied.   
  
"Then why don't you know where he lives?"   
  
"Look, its really important that I talk to him. It's about his story."  
  
The man shrugged. "He lives over on Broome. Small studio near that old theater."   
  
"Thanks," Sam said and turned away. He started out the door when Al appeared next to him.   
  
"Sam, we got a problem. Good news is, we have more time. Bad news… According to Ziggy, there's a seventy-two percent chance that Curt will be killed along with Arthur tomorrow morning."  
  
"That's new," Sam muttered, stepping into the elevator.   
  
"Well, originally, Curt and Arthur weren't in touch. But now, not only have you made contact, you've royally pissed of Tommy Stone. But there's a ninety-three percent chance that if Arthur prints this article he's working on, he'll live. So you've just got to keep him alive until Sunday morning."  
  
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Sam asked, as the elevator doors opened. Two women stood there, puzzled looks on their faces. Sam forced a tight smile and pushed past them.   
  
"That's up to you, Sam." Al grinned wickedly. "But I know what Curt would do."   
  
Sam groaned. "Al…"   
  
Al raised his hands in surrender. "Joking, joking. Just keep him safe." He stepped back into the chamber and disappeared.   
  
Sam rolled his eyes as his holographic friend left. "Easy for you to say."   
  
*  
  
Arthur was sitting at his desk, editing the first draft of his story. He rolled his eyes, angrily jabbing his eraser at Curt Wild's name. He'd mentioned him four times in the first three paragraphs of the article; the first time it had been to reveal him as Tommy's former lover, the second to quote him, and the third and fourth pure tangents that a word or song had set him off into. *Oh, no,* Arthur thought, tapping his pencil to the rhythm of TV Eye, which was playing quietly on his stereo, *I don't have a fixation of any kind…*   
  
Finally it was too much; he spun in his chair and got to his feet, stretching cramped muscles. He made his way to the tiny kitchenette, riffling through the mini-fridge. He pulled out a peach and bit into it absently, eyes searching his studio apartment. He'd lived there since his move to America nearly eight years before and it was nearly as empty as it had been then. He'd come to New York to start over… but somewhere along the line, he forgotten to begin the process.   
  
Arthur tossed the remainder of the peach in the garbage and headed over to the stereo. Gimme Danger had come on, and Arthur didn't need to be reminded of *that* night, not when he was trying so hard to ignore Curt at the moment.   
  
Meeting Curt at that bar on Friday night had given him more regrets than hopes. But Curt's sudden reappearance to warn him about some absurd plot to kill him had confused him, angered him- and hurt him, if he was going to be truthful. The man was his idol, his obsession- and again to be honest, his love since that night in '75. And he'd come bursting into his office, claiming he was going to be murdered. What was next, alien abductions, time travelers?   
  
Arthur scoffed and collapsed into the chair again. He wasn't going to think about Curt Wild anymore. He wasn't going to picture Curt Wild that night on the rooftop, looking at him with amused fondness; he wasn't going to remember the caring in his eyes when he offered him the pin, nor the hesitancy in his gaze when he said he would see him around.   
  
He groaned with frustration and focused his eyes on the binder paper. "Alright, Arthur," he muttered, "get some bloody work done."   
  
A knock sounded at the door just as his eraser came down on a sentence about Curt's stormy eyes. Arthur threw down the pencil and walked over to it, throwing it open carelessly. What he saw there surprised him, thrilled him and made him want to yell, all at the same time.   
  
"Curt," he said to the man, and moved to let him in. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  
  
"I wasn't expecting you."   
  
Sam moved past Arthur into his apartment. It scarily resembled Curt's, being bare of almost any personal effects. At least Curt had his music. This man had nothing except what Sam saw: bare furniture, notebooks and books, and a small stereo and TV set.   
  
Arthur watched Sam as he moved about the room, then asked, "Can I get you something? Coffee?"   
  
"Nah," Sam said. "I'm sorry about earlier. I know it was pretty abrupt, just saying-"   
  
"It was abrupt. And also very strange. Why would anyone want to kill me?"  
  
Sam ignored him, instead walked to the small desk. "What are you working on?" he asked, staring down at the notebook. He barely got a glimpse of a half-erased sentence bearing Curt's name before Arthur grabbed it.  
  
"None of your business."  
  
"It about Tommy Stone, isn't it? Or Brian Slade, whichever you'd prefer."   
  
Arthur nodded. "Yeah. I'm a journalist. It's my job, so if you've come to talk me out of doing it out of some bizarre loyalty to that bastard-"  
  
"No." Sam grabbed Arthur's arm to stop his retreat. "That's not why I'm here."   
  
Without hesitation, Arthur moved forward, capturing Sam's lips with his own in a short kiss. He pulled back, stared at him a moment, as if searching for something in Curt's eyes- something he wouldn't find in Sam's. "You really don't remember." Arthur trailed off, blinking and stepping away. "I mean, I didn't expect you to, not right away, but I thought… I don't know what I thought." Arthur looked down, "So why are you here?"   
  
Sam had no idea what he was talking about when he talked about remembering him, so he said, "I wasn't kidding when I said someone was trying to kill you. Tommy- Brian- whatever… He can't let you publish that article. He's going to send someone after you."   
  
Arthur cocked his head quizzically. "How do you know this?"   
  
Sam shrugged. "I have contacts… And I know Brian," he finished quickly when Arthur started to look doubtful. "Image is important to him… He lost his fame once; he won't lose it again."   
  
Arthur sighed. "I need a drink."   
  
*  
  
Curt owned a bar. Arthur hadn't known that. Of course, there were plenty of things Arthur didn't know about Curt- his favorite color, song, movie, book… The list went on. Curt had asked him all those questions that night on the rooftop. Perhaps if Arthur had taken the time to answer them, the gorgeous blond creature at his side would remember him.   
  
Arthur felt a pang of sadness when he thought about Curt's obvious confusion when he'd touched on that night. *That* was the reason Arthur hadn't mentioned it in the bar. Deep down, he'd known that Curt had forgotten him; had known it since he'd woken alone on a rooftop in Northern London close to dusk one day in 1975.   
  
Almost as soon as they walked into the bar, Curt was flagged down by a bright-eyed brunette, who looked at them both like they were insane. "Curt, I don't believe you! What are you doing here?"   
  
Curt blinked, looking blank. "I own 'here'," he said, as if it should be obvious.   
  
She rolled her eyes. "No, why are you here *now*? You're supposed to be at the club." When Curt didn't reply, she continued with, "You're supposed to be playing tonight? Is this ringing any bells?"   
  
"Um…" Curt said. "I must have forgotten."   
  
"Evidently. Well, if you hurry you can get there in time." Curt didn't move; the brunette slapped his arm. "Go!"   
  
"To where?" Curt asked.   
  
"Granite Club, off 32nd. You've been there a thousand times! What is with you today!"   
  
Curt looked over at Arthur. "You mind?"  
  
Arthur felt a shiver pass through him. "No." 


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: Hola! Hope everyone is enjoying this so far... The song I used in here is from the Quantum Leap soundtrack and is performed by Scott Bakula. I *really* thought it fit Curt and Arthur well, so I completely ignored the whole part about it where it's SO not Curt's style. Anyway, song lyrics are between //s. Please R+R!!   
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Sam felt like panicking. He was an experienced singer, true. But at least then, he'd known the music! Curt Wild was familiar, as was Brian Slade, since he had grown up in the seventies and pop culture seemed to be one of the only things his Swiss cheesed memory allowed him to recall with perfect clarity. But he didn't know the words or music to any of Curt's songs or any covers Curt would likely play…   
  
Arthur's softly accented voice jolted him from his thought. "What are you going to play?"   
  
"No clue. I completely forgot about this thing." He smiled. "Any requests?"   
  
Arthur smiled. "I'm partial to TV Eye, myself. First thing I ever heard of yours."  
  
Sam racked his brain for lyrics. "TV Eye it is," he said uncertainly, vaguely remembering a song with a lot of yelling and something about a cat.   
  
They arrived at the club fifteen minutes later. It turned out they were early. The tall man that turned out to be Curt's lead guitarist gave him an odd look at his jeans and sweater look, but didn't comment on it- or on the young man that followed Curt then, then promptly found a seat at Mandy's table. What he did do was hand Sam a sheath of papers. "We got the music down on that new song you gave us. Here's your original… know how you hate to lose it," the guitarist said with a smile.  
  
"Thanks, man," Sam said. As the guitarist turned away and went back to tuning his instrument, Sam looked over the lyrics. With his photographic memory, he quickly memorized them. At least that was one song he knew.   
  
Sam stepped onto the stage with a sinking feeling. The patrons of the crowded club began to clap as the music started and Sam began his first (and hopefully last) concert as Curt Wild.   
  
*  
  
Curt was off.   
  
Arthur noticed it right away. It wasn't obvious; you'd have to be a true fan or stickler for accuracy to discern the difference. Arthur was both, so as soon as Curt hit the chorus in TV Eye, he knew there was something up.   
  
He was still amazing. He was Curt Wild, after all! The crowd cheered and so did he, entranced by the blond man.   
  
It wasn't long before the last song began. It was slow, almost a ballad, not Curt's style. Arthur blinked and cocked his head, interested. Curt's voice was softer as he sang the opening words of the song, his eyes less troubled than they had been the last time Arthur had seen him perform.  
  
//On the day I walked away  
All the blue rolled into gray  
Now In the dark alone I lay   
Should have stopped but I could never ever stay   
Somewhere in the night   
Inside my dreams you burn so bright   
And I'm with you there and everything's alright  
Somewhere in the night  
Before the darkness turns to light  
Let me love you there  
Somewhere in the night//  
  
Arthur listened to the lyrics intently. It struck a chord in him. He could have written this song, about Curt.  
  
//Second chances I won't get  
Wouldn't dare to hope and yet  
Everywhere I turn I see your silhouette  
Been so long but I never will forget//  
  
The chorus began again, and Arthur felt the slight wetness of tears enter his eyes. Could it be that Curt did remember him?   
  
//Time and time I find I'm thinking about you  
Up on the hill I see you still but I just can't reach  
Who would answer your prayers?   
Who would wait by the stairs?   
Not me  
Not me  
Somewhere in the night   
Inside my dreams you burn so bright   
And I'm with you there and everything's alright  
Somewhere in the night  
Before the darkness turns to light  
Let me see your face  
Feel your warm embrace  
Let me love you  
Somewhere in the night//  
  
The song ended, and Arthur pushed the wetness away from the corners of his eyes. He remembered. Arthur knew it in the pit of his stomach, could *feel* it.   
  
Mandy was speaking; Arthur focused on her. "He's wonderful, isn't he?"   
  
Arthur nodded, staring at the man on stage. "Yes, he is." 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten  
  
Arthur was quiet on the way back from the club. It was pretty late and the subway was nearly deserted. Sam watched him subtly with curious eyes. Arthur had something on his mind. Sam wasn't sure he should pry, but before he could decide, Arthur turned to him.   
  
"Did you write that song about me?" he asked quietly.   
  
Sam looked at the floor. He didn't know. He had no idea who Curt Wild had written that song about. He had just made up his mind to hedge the question when the subway screeched to a stop, nearly tumbling them from their seats.   
  
Another man entered, hooded, and Sam immediately felt his skin begin to tingle. There was something off about that man. He stood close, but not intrusively so, with his hands tucked in his pockets.   
  
Arthur was speaking again; Sam listened, keeping an eye on the man. "Look, I need to know what you feel… about us. For nine years, I thought you forgot me. And I was sure about it earlier. Now… I'm back to not knowing. So if you do, and that song is about me… Please, tell me." Arthur stared at Sam with pleading eyes.   
  
Before Sam could reply, the man was moving, switchblade out, coming for them. "Fags," he muttered, going for Arthur's throat.   
  
Sam moved swiftly, disarming the thug. They fought, but it was over quickly. The man wasn't a trained killer; he was a sloppy punk that Tommy had hired to keep it simple and cheap.   
  
The subway stopped again momentarily; the two men hurried from the car, Arthur shaking. They made it quickly back to Arthur's and called the police, reporting the attack. There was nothing to connect it with Tommy though.  
  
Arthur was worn out after the long day, and fell asleep almost immediately after he sat down on the couch. Sam carefully moved the younger man so he was laying on the couch and covered him up. He sat on one of the barstools, watching Arthur. After a few minutes, he decided it was good the young man was asleep. Few questions for him to answer- questions that only Curt knew the answer to.   
  
*  
  
Al came back hours after their last talk. Curt was waiting patiently for his return, uncharacteristically still, sitting cross legged on the bed. When Al walked into the room, Curt looked at him with Sam's eyes and said, "Arthur's alright."  
  
It wasn't a question, but Al nodded anyway. The sentence was said with perfect assurance. Not trust, for Curt hated being 'held prisoner' as he'd put it in his first few minutes in the waiting room. But Curt knew Arthur was alive as surely as he did.   
  
Curt smiled. "Keep it that way. I don't want him dying before I can tell him I didn't forget. I don't want him dying at all."   
  
"He won't," Al said, and wished he felt as sure as he strove to sound.  
  
*  
  
The next morning both men were up early; Arthur before Sam, since he still had the final touches to put on his story. He finished by seven, having obliterated all mention of Curt that wasn't directly related to Brian. When Sam woke, Arthur had breakfast ready- breakfast that was only Cheerios with milk, but it was something.   
  
They headed out a bit later, walking side by side. The Herald wasn't too far from Arthur's apartment- a fifteen minute walk at a brisk pace. They made it in twenty and headed up the stairs.   
  
Sam had been wary when the attempt on Arthur's life was carried out by a street punk. He had been even more so when they had walked safely to the Herald building. So he expected the shooter to drive by at exactly the moment Arthur started in the glass doors.   
  
Sam pushed him down quickly as the shots rang out, shattering the door. He covered Arthur, leaving their bodies flush against each other. Arthur stared into his eyes, then moved his lips up the inch needed to turn the stare into a kiss.   
  
Sam didn't have time to respond or reject the kiss; Arthur broke it, and Sam got off of him quickly. Arthur had a determined look in his eyes.   
  
"I have a story to deliver," he said and walked through the remains of the door.   
  
Lou wasn't due in till ten, and it was barely nine. Arthur settled for taking the article to Lou's mail bin, knowing his boss would receive it. Arthur sighed and said sarcastically, "I'm almost sorry to ruin *Tommy's* life like this." Then with a flourish, Arthur dropped the article into Lou's bin. He turned back to Sam and grinned.  
  
Sam smiled back at the journalist, then got ready to leap out, ready to turn Curt over to a man that cared deeply about him, ready to change more lives for the better.   
  
Except the enveloping white light and flying-through-space feeling never came. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven  
  
Sam stood in Curt's apartment, confused. Arthur was alive, the article turned in and being typeset, and the two men were surely on the track to a healthy relationship. So why hadn't he leapt yet?   
  
As if reading his thoughts, Al appeared. Sam looked at him questioningly. "So?"  
  
"So the last readings we got were positive. No more assassins, a long career for Arthur with a lot of respect in the industry."   
  
"So why am I still here, Al? The article is coming out in the morning, Arthur's still alive… I don't understand."   
  
Al shrugged. "Ziggy's malfunctioning. She's been spitting out everything from cookie recipes to sex advice today… But nothing useful. Just hold on a bit, Sam, I'm sure we'll figure it out."   
  
Just as Al finished, Arthur walked into the room. The poor kid looked thrashed, Sam realized. He'd had a hard few days. "We're you talking to someone?"  
  
"Phone," Sam covered quickly. "Pizza."  
  
Arthur smiled. "Sounds like heaven right about now."   
  
"Yeah," Sam replied absently, trying to figure out how to order pizza without Arthur knowing.   
  
"Look, Curt…" Arthur swallowed.   
  
Before he could continue, there was a knock at the door. Sam hid a relieved sigh. He really didn't want to have any relationship discussions with another man's boyfriend-to-be. Sam answered the door quickly.  
  
It was Mandy, bearing the promised pizza and a bottle of wine. "Are you alright? I think everyone heard about the 'attempt'," she said dramatically, but behind the made-up eyes, there was genuine concern.   
  
Sam smiled. "I'm fine. Arthur's fine. Right?" he asked the journalist.   
  
Arthur nodded, then motioned to the pizza. "Combination, extra anchovies?"   
  
Mandy grinned. "You are a man after my own heart, Arthur Stuart!"   
  
*  
  
The next day, Sam and Arthur walked slowly to the Herald, ready to get the first edition of the paper. Arthur's story was proudly displayed on the front page, and there was already an angry crowd gathering, enraged with the fake at the news. Arthur and Sam shared a smile, but Sam couldn't help thinking that Curt should be the one to share this moment with Arthur. After all, Arthur obviously cared about him.   
  
He was standing away from the crowd when Al appeared, looking more than mildly alarmed. "Sam! Tommy Stone!" he cried, motioning.   
  
Sam turned his head, and saw him, Tommy Stone, yelling frantically, running up the Herald's steps. He cradled a gun in his right hand as he moved toward the crowd. Toward Arthur.   
  
"Arthur!" Sam yelled and launched himself at the younger man.   
  
He was close enough to push him away. Sam was thankful for that. But he couldn't stop Tommy from shooting.   
  
The bullet hit him with amazing force, slamming into his rib cage. Sam fell to the ground, eyes wide. He heard Arthur cry out, and then felt warm arms around him. Arthur's arms, he guessed.   
  
Through dimming eyes, he saw the policeman grab the gun from Tommy- Brian- who was standing still, in utter shock. As the gun left Tommy's pale hands, Sam felt a familiar feeling. He was leaping. He left Curt's body just as the pain was overwhelming him, on to change another destiny.   
  
*  
  
Arthur cradled Curt's head in his lap, his tears falling freely now. He kissed the older man's cheeks, his forehead, his lips… He didn't care who saw, didn't care if some old lady was scandalized. The only man he'd ever loved was dying in his arms… Dying because he'd saved *him*.   
  
"Arthur…" Curt whispered, reaching a weak hand to his face. His calloused thumb caressed his lower lip. "I didn't forget."  
  
Arthur seized what he knew to be his last chance. "I love you," he breathed.   
  
A little smile lit Curt's paling face. "Me too…" was all he had the strength to say before a sigh escaped his lips and he went limp in Arthur's arms.   
  
A cry tore itself from Arthur's throat; he gripped Curt's shirt, needing him to come back, needing to see his stormy eyes lit with anger or passion one more time. He felt gentle, but strong, hands pulling him from Curt's side; he fought them, not ready to let go.   
  
A gut-wrenching sob tore from Arthur as they lifted Curt's lifeless body. He would never be ready to let go.   
  
He didn't know how long he merely sat on the ground, rocking slowly. Long enough for Curt's body to be taken away. There was still a crowd of onlookers, but no one had the courage to approach the young man. Until Lou finally moved his way.   
  
"Arthur," Lou began slowly.   
  
Arthur looked up, but not at his boss. He looked beyond him, where a piece of metal was glinting in the sunlight. Immediately, Arthur uncurled himself from the tight ball he'd been sitting in, and scrambled for the object.   
  
He scooped the pin up with loving hands, turning it over, marveling at the glow of the green stone. *A freedom you can allow yourself,* he thought.   
  
"Or not," he finished aloud, and Arthur Stuart began to cry. 


	12. Epilogue

A/N: Come on…. You didn't *actually* think I was gonna end it like that, did ya? What? You did? Then you know me way too well. Please R+R, since this truly is the end.   
  
Epilogue  
  
Arthur was exhausted. But he wouldn't sleep; couldn't sleep. He would stay at Curt's bedside until he woke up. And he would wake up. He had to.   
  
Arthur had flown to the hospital as soon as Lou had told him that Curt had survived the ride there. The pin was tucked inside his pocket; one hand held it, the other was entwined with Curt's cool, limp fingers.   
  
Except suddenly, those fingers weren't so limp anymore. They tightened around Arthur's unexpectedly. Arthur's eyes flew from the pale hand to Curt's face. His eyes were opening, cloudy with pain medication and anesthetic- but also tender with love.   
  
"I think this belongs to you," Arthur said, pulling out the pin and placing in in Curt's hand.   
  
Curt shook his head and reached for Arthur's hand again. He curled Arthur's fingers over the pin. "For your image," Curt murmured, his voice weak. But not too weak to say, "I love you."  
  
Arthur just smiled, heart full, and leaned in for a gentle kiss.   
  
*  
  
Sam didn't remember the events of his leap into Curt Wild, but Al did, and kept a careful record of it, proud, as always, of the results.   
  
Thomas Brian Stoningham Slade pled not guilty by reason of temporary insanity and was acquitted of all charges. He disappeared shortly after. His manager, Shannon Hazelbourne, refused to comment, but it was believed that she facilitated his escape from the public eye.   
  
Arthur Stuart worked for another two years at the Herald, then was offered a job at the New York Times. He won the Pulitzer prize in 1989 for a series he wrote dealing with civil liberties. By 94, he was made editor of the Times.   
  
Curt Wild enjoyed a full recovery. He reentered the music business- as a personal manager, not a performer. Many young artists rose to fame under his guidance, using talent, not flashy tricks. He did keep playing, though mostly at home. Arthur always loved to hear him sing.   
  
That was the biggest success of their mission into the lives of Curt and Arthur. They stayed together through the hard times and the good times- and lived happily ever after.   
  
A/N: I hate cheesy (actually, happy in general) endings. So why did I write one? Aww… coz I'm a sucker for Arthur's big brown eyes and Curt's… well, all of Curt.Arthur and Curt deserved a happy ending. I gave them one. Plus I had my roommate annoying me to change it, as well as Twinks!!!!! PS: Hope you're happy, Chrissy. 


End file.
